Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel George Ellis (book series for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

bar to clear. Besides, one look at the engine and I knew it wouldn’t take long to diagnose the problem. If I got lucky, it wouldn’t require new parts.

“I’ll let you know once I’ve had a good look. Where will you be?” I asked.

“The beer hall, most likely. Just wake up Mickey here to give me a buzz.”

* * *

I diagnosed the problem fairly quickly and estimated about a day’s work would get the engine going again. I stirred Mickey so he could let Sky know I would be done in 8-10 hours. The old man was angry that I woke him up, but reluctantly passed along the message.

I headed back to the Stang to collect the proper tools. When I reached the beer hall, it was packed with more people. Men and women in blue suits, to be exact.

Feds.

At least 15 of them were seated at the long table in the middle of the hall, and a few more stood and talked nearby. I kept my eyes locked ahead and almost made it out the door when I heard a voice behind me.

“Hey kid, where are you off to with that toolbox?” he asked. I turned to see a fat, half-drunk soldier glaring back at me. He had a bandage across the bridge of his nose and the areas underneath his eyes were swollen. A few of the blue suits near him also looked over at me. One or two of them had some fresh injuries as well.

“Just grabbing a few more things,” I said, trying to end the conversation quickly. It didn’t work. The guy swigged more of his drink and then tilted his head at me.

“That your ship out there?” he asked.

“A lot of ships out there,” I replied.

“You being a smartass, boy?”

“No, just stating the obvious. There are at least six or seven ships out there.”

“The one with the chrome, tough guy. The wrecker ship. What’s it called, again?”

“The Mustang,” another fed answered. “Checked the call sign on the way in. He’s that wrecker that towed the North Star from Mars to Earth.”

“That was my uncle, actually,” I clarified.

The second fed hiked his shoulders. “Same difference.”

I decided to walk out before I said anything I was going to regret. They could try to intimidate me all they wanted, but I hadn’t done anything wrong, so they couldn’t stop me. I checked over my shoulder as I walked across the docking bay, but no feds were following me. Sky hustled up behind me, worried.

“Please hurry with the fix,” he begged.

“What do you care? You got your wish. A bunch of blue suits chillin’ in Port Lauderdale.”

Sky shook his head. “I was speaking theoretically, of course. As in, the feds need to remove the crowbars from their asses and loosen up. But they’re actually here now and they’ll ruin my numbers for the month unless you fix the engine soon so they have no reason to stay.”

I gave a blank look. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to tell me.

“Feds are great at running up a large tab,” he said. “Paying that tab is another matter.”

Sky hurried back inside to keep an eye on the feds. My uncle always complained that the feds rarely paid their bills, and even more rarely did so in a timely manner when you could actually pry the credits from them. It turned out that rule applied to everyone, not just wreckers.

Their ship was actually docked right next to mine. It was a T-Class 405 Cruiser, the workhorse of the federation fleet. Piece of junk, if you asked me. They should just strip them all for parts, shove them into the void and start over.

“I see our friends in blue have joined the party,” Gary remarked as I boarded the Stang. “Be sure not to mention any of your illegal activities.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at the nearest camera. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” Gary asked.

“None of my activities are illegal,” I said. “Are they?”

After he finished laughing, Gary explained that I was breaking a variety of laws at any given time.

“Such as?”

“Operating without a license. Engaging in unsanctioned warfare. Failing to report unsanctioned warfare. Tax evasion. Treason.”

“Treason?!”

“It’s a gray area, but if the feds wanted, they could probably interpret the time you and your uncle fixed that refugee ship as an act of treason against the federation, and therefore both Earth and Mars,” Gary said.

“They were refugees,” I argued. “Trying to escape oppression.”

“Who do you think they were running from? You call it oppression. The feds call it taxes.”

My uncle had told me being an independent was risky business, but he didn’t have time to explain just how many laws we were breaking if anyone cared to look more closely. And the feds cared, especially if you made them angry. Part of me wanted to just forget about fixing the barge and get out of there. But I knew I couldn’t. I needed the credits. And besides, if I wanted to be a wrecker and handle jobs on my own, I was going to have to deal with the feds all the time. I decided to just mind my business, get the damn engine working, and then quietly head to the next job.

I went to the Stang’s tool shop and began loading what I’d need to fix the stalled barge.

* * *

The repairs only took five hours. Maybe I was working more quickly because I wanted to be on my way, but I had the engine up and running in less than four hours, then spent a little time making sure it wouldn’t break down again anytime soon. My uncle told me the best way to get new jobs was by reputation and referral. Do good work and word travels fast. Be sloppy and word travels even faster. The Stang already had some credibility. I wanted to build my own.

Sky thanked me and offered to pay part of the bill in services. He said I could have